


Torment

by bookscape



Category: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 05:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscape/pseuds/bookscape
Summary: A distraught mother blames Captain Crane for the death of her son on Seaview.





	Torment

“Captain Crane, Matt joined the Navy because of his father’s pushing. ‘Be a man,’ he said.” Laura Dorian gripped her umbrella handle so hard, her knuckles were almost shiny white. “He insisted that the service would ‘make a man’ out of him. Always was calling him a wimp. Blamed his height on my side of the family.” Under her breath she continued to mutter snide comments about her husband. 

Crane mentally winced, decided to try and tone down the vitriolics, saying soothingly, “Seaman Matt Dorian was never a wimp. And it wasn’t the Navy, or Seaview; Matt was already a man. What Matt lacked in stature, he more….”

“None of your platitudes, Captain. Just go and leave me in my grief. Leave me to have a memorial for a non-existent body due to your negligence!” She raised the umbrella in her hand as though to strike him with it. Then she growled something unintelligible and stalked to the mortuary limousine. She got in, but before she shut the door, Lana Dorian turned back to him and called out, “But remember this before you go back to your precious submarine—we are not through!” With that, she jerked the door shut with a loud bang and the car drove off. 

Crane stood there, American flag still under his arm, stricken. Grief did many things, but could there be some basis to Laura Dorian’s threat? And could there be something to her accusations? He glanced back into his memory, but pulled away from the self-examination. That would be later. There were still many people clustered in the small, out of the way, country cemetery. The hot sun, after a quick rain shower seemed to make the air cloyingly steamy. Like a sauna. Lee could see why some of the graves were little more than moss covered mounds with only pieces of slate to mark the final rest for someone’s long ago ancestor. Still, under any other circumstance, Lee would have found it a nice place to simply sit and contemplate. 

“Laura’s temper is notorious, Captain Crane. She flares up white hot and then cools very slowly, ‘specially if she feels she’s been wronged.”

Lee turned to regard the thick-necked, strong-jawed shorter man who reminded him a little of Matt Dorian. Hair color and eyes were different. Whereas Matt had almost green eyes with dark reddish hair, this man’s eyes were blue-gray. What was left of his hair was bright red. “Sorry, I don’t believe I know you, sir,” Crane said warily. He was too drained, physically and emotionally, to deal with another vengeful relative. 

“Carl Dorian, Matt’s uncle,” the man replied, extending a beefy hand. “She’ll come around eventually.”

“Not sure a grief stricken mother can simply ‘come around’ eventually or otherwise, Mr. Dorian,” Lee commented. He handed the flag to the older man. “I guess you’re the closest member of Matt’s family willing to accept this.”

“An honor to. I will at least keep it until Laura feels like taking it herself.”

Crane didn’t respond, only felt relieved that he was able to relinquish the flag to someone. As mourners continued to leave the cemetery, Lee stayed in place. He looked up at a harsh screech to see a hawk fly over the small clearing. It wheeled, banked and then flew over the trees out of sight. 

“Captain, I do want to explain why you probably feel like a, uh, pariah.”

“Because I’m the captain and your sister-in-law feels I’m responsible for Matt’s death. It’s happened before, although not with such vehemence.”

Dorian nodded. “That’s what she’s been saying except it’s not just you simply having responsibility. It’s you directly and deliberately causing his death.”

“What?” Lee was shocked.

“She claims that you put him in harm’s way because you disliked her son. Kind of a David and Uriah kind of thing.”

“Except there was no Bathsheba on board,” Lee snapped. Then he sighed. “Sorry. But why would she think that?”

Dorian shrugged. “She claimed he had sent some letters telling about how you had chewed him out and singled him out for punishment.”

Lee considered his dealings with Matthew Dorian. He remembered his initial reaction to the young man so fresh from Navy service and yet so un-Navy in some of his habits. No—not habits. Perhaps, personality traits was a better way of putting it. The man was a joker. He never took anything seriously—at least not at first. He even had Riley beat and that was saying a lot. At the time, Crane had wondered what the admiral had seen in Dorian. “Maybe he got that impression from a prank that went wrong,” Crane finally said. “And I only chew when necessary.”

Dorian’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, Lord, he was still doing those?”

Lee nodded. “When he first came on board. Some of our men are pranksters and I guess Matt was only trying to impress his new crewmates. A little later, he pulled a few pranks, but not when it would harm someone else. Not after the first one backfired and seriously hurt someone.”

Dorian sighed. “Captain, let’s go somewhere and talk. Get a cup of coffee or something. If you have a moment, that is.”

“Where?” Lee asked, still a little wary. If he’d realized how hostile everyone would have been… But, no, he was the captain—the buck, as well as the responsibility, stopped or resided with him. He had weathered hostility from disgruntled crew as well as resentful relatives and he would weather this. Still, a man’s death was always hard and not just when it occurred. There was the pain of relatives’ grief, of his own feelings of responsibility. Sometimes they multiplied to almost crush him. And when the grief turned to anger, that cubed the emotional output. It was wearing on him.

“Sugar Shack. First town back down the mountain. It’ll be quiet this time of day,” Dorian told him. 

Crane rubbed the bridge of his nose. He really just wanted to head back to the motel and try to get some sleep before his early morning flight. But if one of the relatives wanted closure, he felt obligated to try and oblige. It was the least he could do. “Whereabouts in the town?”

Dorian laughed shortly. “Captain, there are only about three buildings in Conner. The ‘Shack’ is a store as well as a café. Service station is in front, too.”

“I’ll drive down and meet you there,” Lee said with a soft sigh. 

“If you’re too tired….” Dorian offered. 

“I’m tired, but I suspect a cup of coffee will help alleviate some of that for the trip to the airport,” Crane said. “And I wouldn’t want to leave any unanswered questions. Maybe that will help Matt’s mother when she’s ready.” He looked back up to see several emotions flicker across the older man’s face, but they were gone in an instant. 

“Why don’t I lead the way down there.”

Lee looked around and saw only the funeral home workers covering the grave. “Okay. That would probably be better.” As he turned toward his rental car, Lee saw a truck near the entrance to the cemetery sitting off the road under some trees. He paused and then mentally shrugged and pushed aside his paranoia. Crane started down the road after Dorian and glanced at the occupants of the truck. Both of them, like most of the mourners at this funeral, were glowering at him. When he passed, they fell in behind him. Lee felt the surging of alarm, but the two men simply followed about thirty feet behind all the way down the gravel road. He had to grin softly. They were eating the dust he was churning up. 

Twenty minutes later, Lee pulled in next to Carl Dorian in front of a very old, almost dilapidated building. A muscle in his leg tensed and tried to spasm and he got out of the car slowly. After tonight, he’d be back on board. Somehow, despite the dangers that sometimes culminated in what he was doing here, despite the uncertainty that living and working underwater entailed, Lee felt secure on board a submarine, even one that seemed to be as much a trouble magnet as Seaview did. 

He stepped into the small café/store area and saw Dorian sitting at a tiny table in the corner. The beefy man motioned to him and Lee was soon sitting in a creaking, straw-bottomed chair across from him. The two men who had been eating his dust followed a short time later, but after the first glance, Lee forced himself to ignore them. He sincerely felt that if they were as resentful as Laura Dorian and chose to be physical, he could easily deal with them. Besides a public forum was better for such things than some dark alley or country roadway. 

Crane turned his attention wholly to Dorian. Before he could say anything the other man began. 

“You want something to eat with your coffee? I’m good for it.”

“Maybe something light and quick,” Lee conceded. “First however, let’s get business out of the way. I believe, after my years of service in the Navy, I can spot a set-up of some kind, especially one this obvious. Something’s in the air here and it’s not just resentment,” he added bluntly. Dorian shrugged and waited while the young waitress poured a cup of coffee for Crane. When she left, Lee added a packet of sugar and one of powdered creamer, then stirred, contemplating the steam rising from the cup and waiting for Dorian to answer. 

“Look, Commander,” Dorian began, clearly uncomfortable. “I was in ‘Nam. I was on the ground, front lines. Began at the bottom rung of the ladder. Made it to sergeant. They wanted me to go to OCS, but I wouldn’t have any of that.”

“I am familiar with the nuances of promotion and advancement during the war,” Crane said softly. “Regardless of what you felt, someone had to believe you’d make a good officer.”

“Sure,” Dorian said bitterly. “I ended up commanding a couple of squads during the Tet offensive.” He laughed harshly and then took a drink of his coffee. “Couple of squads because they had been blasted up so much that they only made one squad.” 

“And you were the ranking NCO,” Lee offered. 

Dorian nodded. “Point is, I didn’t think of myself as officer material. I had seen a few green lieutenants and captains and they weren’t worth . . . a pile of crap.” He took another drink of his coffee, this time blowing on it first. “Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t think all officers were bad, I just had a sour taste in my mouth for the last couple I had worked with.”

“So when Laura told you about Matt’s letters….”

“I didn’t have a problem believing it was exactly the way my nephew told it.”

Crane leaned back in the chair and sighed. “Before I proceed with my side of the story, please tell me the purpose of the two shadows back there,” Lee said with a slight gesture with his thumb over his shoulder. “Not exactly subtle.”

Again, Dorian sighed. “I told them to let me talk to you. I was the one in the service after all. Let me talk to you and then I can give my feelings to the family when I was through.”

“See if I was Captain Bligh or not?” Before Dorian could do more than begin nodding, Lee continued. “Captain Bligh wouldn’t have come to one of his sailor’s funeral. If I hadn’t cared, I’d have saved the Institute’s money and my time and stayed back in Santa Barbara.” 

“I pointed that out when we heard you were coming, but emotions are way too high right now to be logical.”

“Understandable, but in the interest of self-preservation, are your relatives going to do more than give this place some business and me the evil eye?” 

“I don’t think so.”

Lee nodded, having to be satisfied with that. Again, he thought back to Matt’s death. After operations, he was always assessing, reassessing and analyzing his actions and decisions. What could have been, might have been, would have been if he had said or done something different. Not that such analysis made the next decisions more difficult, Lee thought. He would not allow himself to be crippled by indecision. That, in and of itself, was a decision—a very devastating one if he regularly proscribed to it. A couple of times he had allowed others to determine a course of action he felt was dangerous and he had regretted those decisions. So he mentally went over each mission at its conclusion to determine what went right and what could be improved. Over the years, Lee felt it had made his command better—and safer. 

At times, though, during the toughest missions, especially after a death, he pondered more deeply. Wondered more acutely at his part in what had happened. And agonized. Just as in Matt Dorian’s death. But in the case of Matt Dorian’s death, it wasn’t a matter of the instantaneous decisions he had made at the time Matt died, but the actions that had happened at the beginning of Seaman Dorian’s brief three-month tenure on board Seaview. The kid had rubbed him the wrong way from the first. It was only later, not too long before that last mission that they had really begun to understand each other. More that Lee had finally understood the young man who only wanted to please everyone and seemed to think he had pleased no one. He thought back to the turning point, then decided to share it with Matt’s uncle. Perhaps he, of all the family, would understand. 

“May I share something with you, Mr. Dorian? Something that might help you decide some of Matt’s inner workings—at least the way I came to see Seaman Matthew Dorian.”  
Carl Dorian nodded and leaned forward. Lee began…. 

A month and a half ago:  
Everyone had reported back to the Seaview except for Matt Dorian. What was worst was that Riley had told him that the kid was in a nearby bar. Four hours before departure and Matt was drowning some sorrow in a whiskey bottle. Steaming, Lee declined Sharkey’s offer to go get him. Crane decided to go himself. Except before he could leave, Patterson had requested permission to go with him. That had surprised Lee. It was Patterson who had just returned to duty after Dorian’s big prank had sidelined him with a broken arm. Crane studied the young man. There was no hint of malice in his eyes. Of course there usually wasn’t.

“I think my injury has been eating him, sir. I’d like for him to know that I don’t have any hard feelings.” 

Crane almost denied the request, but then relented. Despite the bravado that Dorian seemed to exude, an almost cocky demeanor, Lee had seen hints of something else. He hadn’t been able to figure out what it was, though. Perhaps the interaction between Matt and Pat would give him some insight. Definitely couldn’t hurt, he thought. Indeed they found the kid soused in the first bar outside Institute grounds. With them in uniform, it was apparent to the bartender and waitress just what was going on. They only stood by and watched as Lee stalked over to the booth they pointed out, followed closely by Patterson. 

“Seaman Dorian!” he barked. Matt Dorian looked up and turned white in shock. He stared hardest at Patterson, although there was fear in the green eyes that glanced into Lee’s. 

“Um, Matt, can we sit with you?” Patterson said without looking at Crane. 

Dorian gulped, nodded and shrank back in the booth until he was against the wall. Patterson slid in opposite his crewmate and Lee sat down next to him. There was a crumpled up letter in front of the beer, but Crane ignored it for now. Suddenly, he saw something that brought everything else into clear focus. He saw a frightened and uncertain—not a man—but a boy. Then the looked was replaced by something determined to hide any doubts or fears. An almost defiant look surfaced. “Captain, I’m resigning.”

Lee was taken aback, although a second later, he realized that he really wasn’t surprised. “Reason?” he asked quietly. 

Dorian took a shuddering breath and the defiance disappeared. “I just don’t belong, sir.”

“Admiral Nelson signed your assignment papers, if I recall.”

“I’m a screw-up, sir.”

His own words being turned and used as an indictment. “Dorian, I said you screwed up when you pulled that stunt. But there is nothing wrong with your ability.”

Dorian ignored Crane and looked directly at Patterson. “And I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me.”

“Matt. Look, it was just a mistake,” Patterson said with a smile. “Hell, the skipper’s had to put me on report because I defied orders. You just made a dumb mistake, you didn’t put anyone at risk because of your own personal agenda.” *

Crane knew what incident Pat was talking about. He didn’t say anything, but let Patterson handle this for now. There seemed to be more than one issue, but he would let the crewman deal with this one.

“Not you!” Dorian said.

“Yeah, me. It’s a long story. But I have a blotch on my service record. Skipper didn’t have any choice.” Patterson glanced at Crane before looking back at Dorian. “Jeez, Matt, if you want any pointers on memorable stunts that won’t injure anyone, just talk to Stu. He’s a master.”

Lee choked, coughed, but kept his face bland. 

Patterson grinned. “Besides, you’re the best weaponry man I’ve ever worked with. Chief says so, too. And I don’t think I’d want to break in a new man.”

Dorian smiled wanly and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Matt,” Lee began thoughtfully, quickly seeing what Patterson had been doing and approving of the approach. “Only you know deep within yourself if Seaview is the right place for you. Somehow, I can’t help but think there’s something else involved here.” Lee said.

“There is, sir, but, I, uh….” Matt looked up, his eyes confused and his countenance showing embarrassment. 

Lee felt he understood. Matt wasn't comfortable talking to him, a khaki. Indeed, Matt might be picking up on his previous irritation with the young man, in which case, Lee wouldn't blame him for not wanting to confide in him. He stood up and glanced at Patterson. 

(*Season Three, “Thing from Inner Space.”)

The young man understood immediately. "Okay to talk for a few minutes, Skipper?" Patterson asked. "We'll be at the boat well before it's time to leave."

Crane nodded. "Make sure you two give yourselves plenty of time to check in with the OOD." He gazed meaningfully at Matt. "I will respect whatever final decision you make, but I think it would be better if you honored your commitment for this mission anyway. Think about what you want to do while we're out in the trench."

"Aye, sir," Matt said quietly, his face showing relief. 

Crane hated it when the newer men acted like he was some kind of demon out to have them for lunch. It was inevitable, though, he guessed. "No more booze, though."

Dorian's cheeks reddened and then he mumbled, "Yes, sir, but I only had one beer."

Although astonished at the revelation, Crane didn't say a thing, only nodded and left. He never learned what they had talked about, although, knowing Patterson, Lee could guess. Pat probably rehashed a few of their missions together and how they had all stuck together. Regardless, an hour later, the two men reported aboard and nothing more was said about Matt leaving. The young man still tiptoed around him when they were in proximity, but Lee didn't go out of his way to seek Matt out, either. He figured the young man would come to him when he was ready. 

The mission was fairly routine until about halfway through, then all hell broke loose. They were incredibly deep, close to Seaview's limits. The admiral and his companion, a trench geology specialist named Ian Murray ran into trouble during a descent in the diving bell. Lee was in the missile room, overseeing the operation, nervous as a cat in a K-9 school. There was something he didn't like about this whole thing. The more he had tried to talk the two men into a shorter descent, the more adament they were to go all the way and place the sensors that would continue to take readings even after they had left the area. That was the main purpose in this mission. If instruments could take accurate readings in the deepest parts of this trench for extended periods of time, then similar instruments could be placed in other trenches, giving scientists a safer way to study these mysterious habitats. 

The trick, though, was in placing them. Lee had wanted the bell lowered from a higher depth, something that would give the boat a safety net in case something went wrong. Heaven help Nelson and Murray if something went wrong with the bell. Too deep for the mini-sub or for the new deep-sea exploration suit. 

The admiral had reported the successful installation of the instrument package, via new robotic arms. The data was already being radioed onboard and after the bell began its slow ascent, Crane was beginning to breathe again. Then came the report of an earthquake-produced shockwave from the northwest quadrant. There had only been enough time to warn the bell crew and the admiral and his companion before it hit. Crane had ordered the winch mechanism locked down until the shockwaves had ceased and was working with the crew to maintain at least a modicum of stability during the seismic attack. 

The winch creaked ominously as the sub was banged around in the turbulent waters, but the cable held and remained taut, telling all involved that the diving bell was at least still attached to Seaview. But that was not the case with some of the other equipment in the room. One of the racks holding diving equipment broke loose, scattering tanks and gear across the room like an avalanche of snow on a mountainside. Lee heard it coming, but there was no time to turn and see what it was, much less get out of the way. He felt a hand grab his shoulder and wrench him away from the bell console. Even so, he still hit the floor hard, knocking another crewman down in the process. Sparks flew as the largest tanks smashed into the bell controls, almost exactly where Lee had been standing. Pain erupted as a smaller tank banged against his hip, but he shoved it away, ignoring the throbbing in an effort to make sure the bell and its occupants were safe. 

The crewman who had saved him reached out his hand and helped him to his feet. "Are you all right, sir?" Matthew Dorian asked, shaken. 

Lee nodded and limped to the winch. Kowalski was shaking his head as several electronic wires continued to spark and smolder. "Cable's holding, sir, but we don't have a way to bring her up. At least not for several hours."

They all knew what that meant. The ascent was long and slow and there was only so much air in the bell. If they waited to replace the burnt out wiring the men in the bell would be dead before they were back aboard. Anger welled, but Crane clamped down on it. "Get a detail to secure this equipment while we try to figure out how to get the admiral and Dr. Murray back on board before their air runs out." He turned to Sharkey. “Break out the auxiliary control board components and get them here on the double.”

“But Skipper,” Sharkey began. “It will take longer to replace and hook up than we….”

“I know that, Chief, but it all still has to be replaced,” Crane told him tersely. 

“Skipper? Maybe, uh, well….” Dorian ventured and then stopped. 

Crane pivoted and sucked in a quick breath as his badly bruised hip protested. “If you have an idea, Dorian, spit it out,” he said tersely. 

“Well, sir, I think we could jury-rig the mini-sub winch motor. It wouldn’t be as powerful but we could possibly supplement with a smaller motor or even a supplementary manual crank.” Dorian looked at the ground, coughed softly, as though hiding embarrassment and then looked Crane right in the eyes. “I, uh, have had to, sort of make do, when I was younger and working on cars.”

Crane didn’t have to think long. “If you feel it will work, then do it, Matt. I sure don’t see any other solution.”

“Aye, sir,” Dorian said drawing himself up. 

“And thanks, Matt,” Lee said, more softly. 

“Are you all right, Skipper?” Matt asked tentatively. 

“Fine, just get busy dismantling the other winch. Let’s get the admiral back on board.”

Yes, sir!” Dorian said quickly. 

And they did. It was close, but they got the two men on board safe and sound. The young man was the darling of the boat that day. It seemed that Matt had finally found his niche—his place among the rest of the crew. 

“So he saved you from injury,” Dorian mused. 

“He saved my life, too,” Crane added. 

“That cylinder wouldn’t have killed you,” observed Dorian. 

A brief smile played about the captain’s lips. “No, but a giant sea creature certainly could.”

“You know, there was nothing said about just what killed Matt. Was it this creature?”

“Yeah, there are still many who would say that such things are the figment of fantastic imagination, but there are things down there that haven’t been discovered yet. We just have to venture the proof so that the admiral and the Institute and the rest of us aren’t laughed to scorn.”

“So this is all about Admiral Nelson’s vanity?”

Crane looked up sharply, his eyes snapping with suppressed anger. “No, it’s not about the admiral’s vanity. It’s about his ability to continue to be seen as an authority in his field, to be believed when some real crisis comes along.” Lee took a deep breath. “You have no idea how many times, even now, the admiral has been called a crackpot, insane, too reckless, off the mark and out of touch.” He took another sip at his coffee, gazing out of the cigarette-filmed window, not really seeing anything. “Even after he’s almost single-handedly saved the world more than a few times. No, Mr. Dorian, it’s not about vanity, it’s about being careful and having all the facts before presenting something seemingly far-fetched.”

“Why was Matt out there with you when there was something dangerous out there?”

Crane laughed sharply, but sobered in an instant. “First of all, anything we do down there in a submarine is potentially dangerous. Second of all, we didn’t know we were in this creature’s back yard. Matt was a weapon’s expert and we were checking undersea weaponry to make sure it was still totally operational. There were several groups of us running sweeps of the area. Matt and I were partnered up.”

“Any particular reason?”

Peering at Dorian for understanding, Lee answered anyway. “After that incident with the diving bell, I felt that we needed Matt on board even more than I had before. I had assumed because he hadn’t tendered a resignation before this last mission, that he had decided to remain aboard Seaview. I wanted to work more closely with him, see how he worked, see if we could come to a more viable work relationship. Hopefully to see if we could become more comfortable with one another.” 

Dorian nodded. “So he gave up his life saving you.”

“Something that any of us on board Seaview would do for any other member of the crew.”

Again, Dorian nodded, then murmured. “I wish he had had time to convey that before he died. Would have saved a lot of hurt.”

“That monster jerked me around like I was a toy. Matt warned the other members of the team and then came in to try and save me.”

“He succeeded, I would say.”

Crane gazed at the older man without comment, remembering the event with an almost cinematic clarity. He had ordered Matt back, but the young man wouldn’t listen. Matt had continued into the fray, dodging the grasping tentacles and searching through the ink and fluid stained water for the eyes. Lee had managed, by that time, to get his knife out and was hacking at the giant squid. Matt was doing the same. There were piercing, grating sounds that he presumed had come from the creature. He felt the tentacle loosening, but it was hard to see. There was nothing to see but murky water. The tentacle loosened some more and Crane repeated his order to the rate. Finally he pulled free and then back-pedaled away from the monster, trying to find Matt. He did. He did and gagged on his mouthpiece. 

The squid had grabbed Matt, even as the young man had stabbed and hacked at the creature to get his captain free. The squid had a firmer hold on the other diver, had literally squeezed the life out of Matt Dorian. Now it jetted deeper into the murk, still holding on to the dead diver. Lee began to follow, hoping to recover the body, if at all possible, but one leg felt as though someone had stabbed him. Other divers showed up and tried to do what he had been unsuccessful in doing. They came back empty handed. All this went through Lee’s mind as he pondered Carl Dorian’s question. With deliberate slowness, Crane stood up and reached into his pocket for his wallet. “Yes,” was all he said.

“My treat, Captain.”

“Thanks,” Lee said wearily. 

“There was a lot more to Matt than I think most of us realized,” Dorian mused. 

“Yes, there was,” concurred Lee. “I want to thank you for being open-minded enough to listen.” He reached out his hand and Carl Dorian took it, shaking hands solemnly. Without paying the slightest attention to the two men at the other table, Lee walked out the door. He got into his rental car and pulled away from the all-purpose building, thinking of the long, hot shower he was going to take when he got to the hotel. 

In the dust of the grated road, Lee saw someone come up, but didn’t pay more attention then to notice it was the same cop who had led the funeral procession up the country road. With a sigh, Crane continued down the road to the connecting blacktop county road and then on toward the freeway. 

================

Carl Dorian watched the retreating figure. 

“Well?” one of the two men asked. 

“Well, what?” Dorian asked tersely. “And leave him alone.”

The two men snorted and turned back to their coffee and toast. Dorian headed to the tiny post office on the other side of the building, pushing through the glass door that separated the two businesses. There were several letters waiting for him. One of them was a blaring call that he might have won a million dollars. He shredded it up and threw it in the nearby wastebasket. One was a packet from Santa Barbara. That was where Matt had been stationed. Curious, Dorian opened the large manila envelope and pulled out the first of several sheets of paper. 

‘Dear Mr. Dorian,’ it began. ‘You don’t know me, but I was one of Matt’s crewmates. My name is Matt (Matthew), too, but Matt, like the rest of the crew, knew me as Pat. He told me that if anything ever happened to him, I was to send you whatever letters and other papers he was composing at the time. So that is what you are getting. He had several letters in progress, so if you will make sure they are given to the right people, I’m sure he would be grateful. Enclosed also are several photos I took as well. The last one was taken just the day before Matt’s last dive. It was on the occasion of Matt’s birthday. Sincerely, Seaman Patterson.’

Even more curious, Dorian pulled out several pictures. He studied the shots of Matt in his rack, in the mess, playing cards with some of his crewmembers. Then there were the birthday photos. It showed Captain Crane giving Matt something. It looked like a pin of some kind and Carl Dorian realized that it was some kind of a service pin. He reached into the packet and pulled what he presumed was the pin in question. Dorian looked at the photo again and saw genuine pleasure on the faces of both Matt and Crane. 

“Just passed that captain. Was going to turn around and serve him, but thought I would ask you about your little meeting first,” came a voice that made Dorian jump. It was the sheriff, Will. 

“Will, I think you’d better hang on to those papers,” Dorian said, handing him the picture he’d been looking at. 

“I thought….”

“Guess we all did,” Dorian said absently, gazing now at a letter that was almost a page long. ‘Got all the birthday goodies from everybody, Mom. I know you wanted me home for the celebration, but I work on a sub. I’ll see you all as soon as I can. It was a great birthday, though. All the guys gave me a surprise party in the mess. Cookie made a cake. The skipper awarded me my diver’s pin. Didn’t tell you, I’d already taken the training but hadn’t done enough dives. Now I have. I love it! Tomorrow we do some diving to check out some remote systems that quit working. Almost forgot, the guys haven’t forgotten some of my tricks, but they aren’t mad about them. Ski gave me a whoopee cushion for my birthday, Stu gave me a palm buzzer. All the guys gave me prank gifts, so guess they have no hard feelings. Even Pat gave me something—a bottle of invisible ink, along with some really great pictures. (I’ll be sending some of them home.) 

‘Mom, I’m going to stay with the boat. I told the skipper that today. I didn’t tell you before, but he and I are getting on really good now. He’s not such a bad guy, not once we got to know each other. I guess you just have to give everyone a chance. We kind of got on the wrong foot with each other in the beginning, I guess….’

That was as far as the letter went. He looked up and saw Will studying him. “Well, can’t let these sit in my pocket,” the sheriff said, tapping his breast pocket where Dorian supposed the summons paper was residing. 

“No, but according to these, in Matt’s own hand, there’s no basis for Laura’s complaints or her suit. It would be a waste of everyone’s time and her money,” said Dorian. 

Will shook his head. “Judge would laugh her out of court, or chew her out. So what do you think is best.”

Dorian shrugged. “Let’s go see her. Give her Matt’s last papers.”

“Sad that she lost him so young,” Will mumbled. 

“Will, she lost Matt long before he died,” Dorian replied. “That’s part of the problem. She couldn’t let go six years ago when he joined the Navy; kept trying to reach out and reel him back in the whole time.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what it’s like to suddenly realize that all you had lived and breathed for was suddenly gone out of your life. Gotta be hard.”

“Yeah. Harder for some people than others. Maybe she’ll take some comfort in knowing he was happy.”

“And realize that he was respected for what he was, not what she or Bill wanted him to be. Maybe she could learn something from that,” Dorian said as he folded the letters and placed them in the envelope. “I’ll go talk to her. Get her to see reason.”

Will just nodded, and the two men walked out together, each then going in his own direction. 

=================

Captain Lee Crane opened the small envelope with slight suspicion. From the postmark, he was well aware that it was from one of Matt Dorian’s relatives. There was no return address, so he wasn’t sure which one. In the months since the funeral, Crane had not heard anything, which, considering everything, was a good omen. No poison pen letters, no announcements of a civil law suit, no bombs. 

He pulled out the card and was surprised to see the words ‘Thank You’ embossed in the standard flowery silver print on the outside. Opening it up, Lee read the short sentence—‘Thank you for coming to Matt’s funeral. Thank you also for the flag.’ It was terse, almost to the point of being curt. Then he thought about it. For Laura Dorian to make even this concession was an almost complete turn around from what he had experienced at the funeral. It had to have been a hard transition; it had to be so hard to lose one’s only child. Lee felt a touch of admiration for the woman as he pushed the letter back inside the envelope and set it carefully inside his desk. 

The same thought that had come to him on other occasions crossed his mind. Hopefully, this would be the last time he would have to deal with this kind of thing. Even while he was thinking it, though, Crane realized that there would be other times. By the grace of God, let it not happen for a long, long time. He got up and began to undress for bed. A very long time.


End file.
